That Old Me's Dead and Gone
by mymuseandi
Summary: He had stretched his legs back up after some time, and that was when the world had tilted briefly.
1. Chapter 1 I turn my Head to the East

Thanks to Schelz for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. This whole writing sporadically method has its disadvantages.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters nor the actors playing them. Nu-uh.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

It was just a swaying of the surroundings, the first time it happened. They were in the house of the latest victim, looking for clues that would lead them to for their monster of the week. There had been three victims before the latest one that lied rigidly in front of Dean, dark blood flowing from her head and some clear fluid that he hoped to hell wasn't brain fluid leaking from her nose. He and Sam had reached a little too late to save her, and now, looking down at the body, Dean can't help but feel a brief acid-in –the-stomach guilt. They had split up, Sam taking the bedrooms while he looked over the living room and the kitchen.

The EMF meter had yielded nothing from the kitchen, so he had wandered over to the living room and started his search. The bright yellow living room was, Dean felt, inadvertently mocking the somber atmosphere surrounding the cooling corpse. He crouched down to inspect the blood spatters of the unfortunate thirty year old woman in the living room, and noticed that there was no sign of any struggle around the room. It was almost as if the woman had consciously decided to drop to the floor and cracked open her head, no assistance needed. But the Winchesters knew better, having detected identical causes of deaths with the other victims. Frustratingly, he couldn't find any other clues that might helped with them solving the case. Even the EMF meter blinked and whined only sluggishly.

He had stretched his legs back up after some time, and that was when the world had tilted briefly.

"Whoa," he blinked against the sudden slant of his surroundings, feeling himself falling. A second later, his natural balance had reasserted itself and he unconsciously moved his right leg back, steadying himself. At the same time, his arms free-wheeled and his right one caught on a vase, sweeping it to the floor with a loud crash and shattering it into pieces.

_Oops._

"Dean?" Sam was standing in the doorway of the master bedroom with a concerned look on his face, the EMF meter clasped loosely in his left hand.

Dean waved off his anxiety. "Head rush Sam. I got up too quickly."

Sam stared at him for a second longer, seemingly trying to search out his brother for any lie, before turning and resuming his search. Dean rolled his eyes, and mirrored his brother's actions, and the incident was forgotten.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

The second time it happened was two weeks after. They were two states over in another nondescript motel, catching up on some rest after their last hunt that turned out to be a violent ghoul. Dean had just woken up from sleep, lying on his stomach and had twisted his head from the left to the right and trying to make himself more comfortable. He was on his third head roll when he was aware of the sensation of falling. His eyes opened in slits and winced immediately.

The world around him was spinning slowly in too bright colours, despite the fact that the room was only lit in the faint light of the nearby street light through the tightly drawn curtains. It left him dizzy and disoriented, and he found himself fighting vertigo while lying on his stomach.

_How screwed up was that? Can you fall if you are lying down? Is this some kind of trick question? _

Dean breathed slowly, trying to contain his reaction. Sam was lying on the other bed, body twitching when Dean let out an audible breath. But his exhaustion won over his instinct, and a second later he burrowed deeper underneath the blankets. Dean closed his eyes momentarily, relieved, as the last thing he wanted to do is send his baby brother into a panic. He didn't want Sam to overreact and he knew that's exactly what he would do if he caught Dean in his current state.

Dean kept up the deep breathing and the unsteady feeling passed moments later, allowing his tense muscles to relax. Dean was hit by a wave of fatigue then, so strong and sudden, and Dean, being Dean, decided to ignore the anomaly. He turned his body gingerly over to the other side, making himself comfortable again. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, and he fell asleep trying to find the source of his unease. However, by the next morning, the second episode was deeply buried at the back of his mind, forgotten once again.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Unfortunately, the third time was the charm, or in Dean's case, the curse.

Both of them had been walking towards their motel after lunch, Sam trailing behind Dean. Sam wasn't paying much attention to his older brother, preferring to scour the newspaper in his hands, idly looking for a hunt and reading the gossip pages, reluctantly fascinated by the meaningless antics of the celebrities. Dean was amusing himself by clicking his tongue to the tune of Metallica's Sandman, trying to gauge how long it would take before Sam showed his exasperation. Five minutes passed, and Sam was still maintaining his cool.

_Not bad little brother,_ Dean thought grudgingly. He decided to switch to another annoying act, whistling loudly and obnoxiously.

Sam, well versed with Dean's boredom tricks, ignored him still. Dean whistled louder, walking slightly ahead and then turning his body around so that he could continue it right at Sam's face. As his head turned, however, he felt a sharp spike at the base of his neck. The sudden pain literally took his breath away, and for a long second Dean could not draw in any air. His hands flew to seek the source of the pain. At the same time, his vision shifted into wavy, blurry kaleidoscopes of colours and all he could hear was the wind rushing into his ears.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

"What the…" the pain in Dean's voice got Sam's attention. He raised his head from the newspaper.

Dean was clutching his neck, and his eyes met Sam's a second before they rolled up at the back of his head, and he crumpled to the ground without another sound.

With reflexes that he didn't even know he possessed, Sam caught his brother before he dropped onto the stony asphalt. Nevertheless, he wasn't agile enough to catch Dean and retain his equilibrium at the same time, so he followed gravity, albeit more gently than Dean's unexpected descent. The newspaper that Sam had tossed fluttered uselessly to the ground.

Sam ended up on his knees with Dean's head on his lap. He gently slapped Dean's cheek, noting his clammy skin. "Dean. Dean, come on."

No reaction. There wasn't even a tremble. Dean was out cold.

Sam worked his right hand towards the base of Dean's neck, searching for whatever that might have cause his elder brother to just drop to the ground without any warning. His fingers found a knot underneath the skin of Dean's neck, but apart from that, there was nothing else. Sam's fingers danced lightly on the knot, figuring to be a twist of muscles that perhaps have been entangled. Maybe he had pulled the muscles on his neck. He pushed gently, wary that any harder force might hurt his brother further, but wanting to elicit a response of some kind. Dean remained stubbornly pliant.

Sam ducked his head towards his brother's nose to check his breathing. It was a steady draft and his pulse, which Sam took from his wrist, was fast and strong. Sam took that as a good sign that whatever happened wasn't serious. _Although,_ he reflected, _passing out without any precursor was definitely a cause for concern._ He slapped Dean's cheek again and called out to his brother once more.

"Dean, come on man. You are scaring me here. Wake up, now."

Dean groaned, and though it was a minuscule noise, it filled Sam with relief. He manhandled his brother to an upright position and half-carried, half-dragged him two hundred yards away to the relative comfort of their motel room. There was a moment when Sam was sure that he was going to drop his brother, the limp body heavy with muscles, _and those cheeseburgers that he ate just now, and man, you gotta lay off them before you turn into a blimp, Dean. _

Thankfully, nothing and no one was dropped and Sam managed to get his brother safely into their room.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

"What happened?" Dean's voice was just barely a whisper, but Sam heard him loud and clear. He strode out from the bathroom and towards his brother's bed. Dean was struggling to sit up on the bed, and he was failing miserably. Sam grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him into a seating position.

"Hey, it's about time." Sam couldn't mask his relief from his voice. Two hours of Dean still twitching but not waking up fully had his worry soaring into an almost full-fledged panic. His palms had crescent-shaped dents from him clenching his fists while he sat down beside his brother and willed him to wake up. Any longer and he might be tempted to cart Dean to the nearest ER to find out what exactly was wrong with Dean.

"What happened?" Dean repeated. His voice was tremulous, although it was getting stronger and steadier. His eyes moved from Sam to the next bed to the bathroom and back again.

"You tell me. You just keeled over on the way back," Sam kept his voice calm and even, although what he actually wanted to do was to start yelling and interrogating his brother to find out what really happened.

Dean frowned, looking confused, as if he had no idea what Sam was talking about.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Sam pinched the little area between his eyebrows, willing himself to be patient. Chances were Dean might not even remember what happened to him.

"Okay. Never mind that, how are you feeling right now? Do you have a headache? Do you need me to get you anything?"

Dean took a moment to assess the question. "I'm feeling like my head is replaced by a rock, and that someone is now drilling that rock with a hammer." There was a pause. "But other than that I'm fine."

Sam rolled his eyes at the sarcastic reply, but he stood up almost immediately to fetch some aspirin and a glass of water, glancing over at Dean, who was giving the room another once-over. When he handed them over to Dean, it was accepted with a grateful but tense nod. Sam watched as he swallowed the medication before throwing in his next question.

"So, what was the last thing you remember?"

Dean met Sam's eyes, and although there was a note of uncertainty, he answered readily enough. "I remembered going to lunch, I remember coming back, and that's it."

"Are you sure? Do you remember what happened just before you pass out?" Sam pressed on. His brother had a hard head, what with being frequently tossed into walls and all that, but he never knew if this time it was the injury to break the camel's back. All that contact with solid things might just dislodged his brother's brains.

Dean, surprisingly, seemed to consider that question carefully. His eyes glazed over as he tried to cast his mind back, and Sam just sat there silently, reluctantly giving him time to search his memory. After a minute, Dean came out of his stupor and shrugged his shoulders.

Sam sighed. He might just have to wait till tomorrow to question Dean again. "Well, it doesn't matter now. Are you sure you are feeling all right?"

Dean nodded his head, but his expression remained edgy. His eyes were also still darting about the room, making him look slightly manic, and there was a baffling frown on his face. Sam had a sudden thought that, maybe, Dean wasn't _quite there_ with him yet. He sighed again, and stood up. Dean's eyes swiveled back to his standing form.

"Well, the room's paid up till tomorrow anyway. Why not we just rest for the day, and we can get a move on in the morning?" Dean nodded again, still not saying a word.

The silence was starting to unnerve Sam. Suddenly edgy and looking for something to occupy his hands with, he moved towards the table, where his research was left abandoned and started to shuffle the papers into a neat pile. He spied a pizza delivery flier among the papers and thought that both of them could use some food.

"Do you want to order some pizza? Or maybe some Chinese? You should eat something before you go back to sleep. Pizza might be good. I am so sick of Chinese food. We had it the night before, and the night before that, and also for lunch the same day. Man, I think that we might have tried the entire menu for that restaurant. At this point, pizza sounds like heaven."

There was still no sound coming from the person behind him, so Sam barreled on.

"Well, anyhow, I found the next hunt that we can get into. There were some murders over at the Pasadena area, and I think I found the pattern and the cause. If you feel up to moving, we can get a head start tomorrow morning, and I can drive. Or if you're better, then you can drive, although I think you shouldn't. Anyway, if we drive fast enough, we can get there by the morning after next, and we can start our..."

"Uh, Dad?" Dean ventured tentatively, cutting Sam's verbal diarrhea. He sounded unsure.

_Huh? What the …?_

Sam stopped talking and twisted his head around so fast he nearly had whiplash.

Dean mistakenly took his frown of concern for displeasure and hurried on. "Sorry Sir. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to know where Sam is."

He looked so solemn and serious, and he didn't look as if he was yanking Sam's chain.

_He's not joking about this.  
_  
Time seemed to slow down, like one of Matrix's special effects, and the silence that followed was deafening in Sam's ears. He ceased shuffling the papers as he tried to suck in air to breathe, his thoughts tangling together and muddling him up. He was pretty sure his heart skipped several beats. He looked away from the collected research back to Dean, wondering if he'd actually heard what he thought. Something heavy sunk to the pit of his stomach like a rock and he knew he'd heard right.

He stood there frozen for uncountable moments, staring at his older brother, jaw still gaping. Dean was looking back at him, eyes slightly lowered and having an uneasy expression on his face. No one spoke for several moments, and Dean was fidgeting, fisting the sheets and suddenly finding his two hands more interesting than his brother's face.

Predictably, Dean was the one who broke first.

"So, uh, is he still in school then? It's almost three now, and he should be out of there already. And today's Thursday, so he doesn't have to stay in after school," he informed Sam hesitantly, as carefully as talking to an armed police guard who had his weapon pointed at Dean.

I'm feeling better now. I can go and fetch him back…" Dean's voice trailed off when he realized that Sam was still gawping at him without a word.

Dean cleared his throat and tried to explain again. "Uh, so, I can fetch Sam from school and come straight back here, and you can carry on with research, or whatever it is that you are doing. Seriously, Dad, I feel fine. It might just be because of the heat that I, you know, pass out."

Sam continued staring at Dean, half expecting his older brother to break out into a smile, shout "Gotcha, you sucker!" and proceeded to laugh hysterically at him for being such a gullible younger brother. When that didn't happen, however, the sinking feeling that Sam had had settled in his stomach and the youngest Winchester was forced to realize that this, regrettably, wasn't a prank.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Hey, you made it this far! *waves* So, how was it? Please let me know???


	2. Chapter 2 I turn my Head to the West

Whew! *wipes sweat from face* Alright, I managed to publish this before 2010!!!! *crosses fingers*

Thanks everyone for the review!! It's really encouraging. This chapter is unbeta-ed though, because my lovely hunny had Christmas holidays with her family. No matter though. Any mistakes are mine, and please feel free if you see any grammar, spelling, etc errors.

Happy 2010 everyone!!!!!

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Dean fidgeted, wondering what was wrong with his father. He had never seen the oldest Winchester this way before. His father was still rooted to the spot, staring at him without closing his mouth, had been doing so for several minutes. Dean brought his hands up to his face. _Was there something on it?_ He wished he had a mirror in his hands right then.

_And maybe one of those remote controls that could rewind the last few hours so that I would know what was going on. _

As if he could read his mind, his father abruptly snapped his mouth shut, rushed over to the bags at the corner of the room and began rummaging through them. Frowning even more, Dean nevertheless just watched his father doing his best impersonation of a wild hare digging a hole. He spied a familiar article of clothing peeking out from the rim of the bag and recognized it as Sam's. With a start, Dean realized that he was rummaging through Sam's bag. If Sam's bag was here, then where was he?

"Dad, that's Sam's bag. Is he back? Where is he?" He wasn't usually worried about his younger brother, not that much anyway, since he knew Sam was at school and he could take care of himself, mostly. But everything had been so strange so far since he opened his eyes and he wished for something normal, like the presence of Sam, annoying like he usually was these days.

His father, predictably, didn't answer. He was still furiously digging into the bag, intent on seeking out whatever it was that he needed. Dean heaved a sigh, shifted his body and made to get up from the bed, but John had already found his prize and was striding towards Dean, the object clutched tightly in his hand.

He sat down beside Dean on his bed and held out the item in front of him. Said item turned out to be a mirror. He filed a mental note to tease his little brother later for actually carrying handheld mirrors in his bag, and turned his attention back to John. _Okay, maybe Dad can really read my mind._ The middle Winchester frowned, confused, and looked at his reflection.

The first thing that popped in his mind was that he looked different, older than he thought he was. The crow's feet around his eyes looked more prominent than he believed they should be, and there was stubble on his jaws and chin, adding to the whole air of exhaustion that seemed to be reflected on his face. He was pale, and at his left temple there was a healing thin red gash, although for the moment Dean couldn't remember how he got that. Is that what his father wanted him to see?

"Dad?" Dean directed his questioning stare to his father's reflection.

"Dean, who did you see in the mirror?" John asked, almost gently, as though he was asking a five year old child. And come to think of it, his father's voice sounded different too. Instead of the deep soothing baritone that he was familiar with, it now was slightly higher in pitch, judging from what Dean could hear during the monologue earlier. Dean's uneasiness grew.

"Well, I still see my handsome self," Dean snickered, but his father was a tough audience, choosing to remain silent. He cleared his throat and continued. "And you, of course. Dad, you shouldn't have shaved. You look younger. People might think you are my younger brother now instead of the person who helped procreate me," Dean snickered at his own joke.

His father didn't take the bait. If anything, he looked even paler than he was a minute ago. He slowly pulled his hand back, taking the mirror with him, and stared at his reflection seemingly without even blinking. Dean's concern skyrocketed. He waved a hand in front of his father's face but there wasn't any response. He didn't even blink.

_Okay, that was it_. His father was acting as though he didn't recognize his own face, Sam was nowhere to be seen and Dean was out cold for some unknown reason, not to mention lying in bed in the middle of the afternoon. Were they trapped in a curse?

"Dad?" Dean tried again. He knew his father was a man of few words, but this was ridiculous.

John seemed to snap back into the present at Dean's voice. He focused his stare at Dean briefly before closing his eyes for a few seconds. When his eyes opened, there was such intensity behind it that it pushed Dean's already strong fear a notch higher.

"Dean, are you really feeling all right?" His voice, although still odd, was calm. _Too calm_.

"Dad, that's the second time you are asking me. I feel fine! What's going on?" Dean made to get up again, and got as far as managing to place his feet on the floor of the room, but John put his hand on his chest in a motion to stay put. Dean contemplated for a moment about getting up anyway, and demanding answers, but he knew John wouldn't respond well to disobedience. He suppressed a sigh, pulled his legs back onto the bed and leaned back on the bed.

Dad looked surprised that he managed to get Dean to settle back. Seriously, there was something strange, almost unnatural, about Dad's behavior ever since he woke up. Additionally, his clothes looked newer, and Dean knew his father would never buy clothes while the ones that they owned were still serviceable. Not to mention his appearance. Dean was absolutely sure that this morning, his father's hair was a lot shorter, his facial hair was still unshaved, grizzled yet oddly suited to his face, and his eyes were darker that what they were now.

_Well, ninety percent sure_. But he was sure enough.

Dad cleared his throat again. He focused his attention on Dean and asked him a really weird question. "Dean, am I Dad?"

_Of course, there was only one explanation for all this madness_. "Dad, are you drunk?"

There was a long and loud sigh coming from his father. John shook his head and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He looked completely exhausted, and Dean wanted to reassure his father, but he needed to know what he was reassuring him from. Before he could ask, John asked him another question. "Dean, tell me your age, Sam's age and my age."

Dean frowned. "Dad, I don't have a concussion."

"Just humor me, okay?"

"Okay, fine. But I'm telling you, this is pointless." Dean let out a big sigh, one almost identical to the one John let out previously. "Sam's seventeen, I'm twenty-one, and you are forty-six, although right now you don't look it. Are you sure you didn't sneak out to do some plastic surgery without me and Sam knowing? Or maybe indulge in the JD?"

His father ignored him. "Dean, I think we have a problem."

"What problem? Is it Sam? Is he in trouble?" His brother seemed to get into trouble endlessly with his father these days. Dean understood all too well Sam's need for freedom, but damned if the kid didn't make life difficult for all of them. He should have expected this, waking up to John instead of Sam.

Dad shook his head. "No Dean, Sam's not in trouble." He hesitated for a beat. "You are."

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Sam watched as his brother's expressive eyes cloud with more confusion and a flash of hurt. _Hurt? _Sam opened his mouth to clarify further but Dean beat him to it.

"What did I do, Dad? I can't remember what I did." His voice was confused, almost quiet, but resigned. He was questioning the validity of Sam's statement, but Sam could hear the acceptance, the _acknowledgment_, that he had done something wrong that led him to the present situation. He fought to tamp down his sudden wave of anger. Dean was just reacting the usual way he did to Dad, but he didn't need any reminder of how Dad had moulded Dean into the perfect foot soldier, and how much that had cost him.

Besides, there were other pressing matters. Not least was the fact that Dean was missing several years from his memory. And that he thought that Sam was Dad. Sam knew that he looked like his father, the coloring and the hair and all that, but this was ridiculous.

"No, Dean. You didn't do anything wrong." He paused. Normally he wouldn't hesitate to give it to Dean straight, but he couldn't figure out a way to tell his brother about the current situation without telling him about Dad, or more specifically, his death. He had seen how much Dean had struggled to keep his shit together, after Dad's death, and especially after a trip to Hell. To see him doing it all over again was not something he was particularly keen to do. However, the other alternative, of Dean finding out by himself was not particularly advisable either. Sam hoped he could do some damage control when the shit hit the fan.

"Dad, please, you are scaring me," Dean's quiet voice pierced through his thoughts. He mentally shook himself and set his focus back to Dean, who was currently scrutinizing Sam. Sam took a deep breath, and made an executive decision. Like it or not, his older brother had to know what was going on, and then both of them could go about solving the problem.

"Dean, do you know what year it is?" he tried to start this whole conversation gently.

Dean's eyebrows creased into a frown. Sam knew he was trying to come up with the 'right' answer. "It's the millennium, Dad. Start of the 21st century? We are nearing Halloween?" The puckered brow became more pronounced. "Seriously, have you gotten an early start on the drinking?"

Sam couldn't help but snort at the question even as he shook his head. Their father drank heavily, but Sam could count on one hand the number of times he had seen his father drunk during the day. John had the grace – _if you could call it _– to stick to nighttimes as his drinking hours, and he usually did so out of sight of his children. And John wasn't a mean drunk, but rather, a maudlin one, and they usually put him to sleep it all off.

"Then what is it? You are acting strange, and Sam's not around, and if I'm not in trouble, then what exactly is going on?" Dean was frustrated; Sam could read it in his eyes. Sam was frustrated too, and he wasn't the one missing a chunk of his memory. He had to take control of the situation and right now, telling his brother the truth seemed like the best choice. He followed the band-aid rule and spewed out the words as quickly as he could.

"Dean, we passed the millennium several years ago. It's the end of 2008 now." Sam smiled nervously at his brother, waiting for his reaction. He could never predict Dean.

Dean's eyes widen, and suddenly he let out a loud chuckle, a grin forming on his face.

"Dude, that's a good one! I keep telling Sam that you do have a sense of humor, and now he's not here to hear this."

_I should have expected this outcome, really_.

At Sam's sigh, Dean's grin faltered. He stared at Sam, his huge eyes widening even further when he realized that Sam wasn't joking. He stuttered, "You aren't joking, are you? Please tell me you are joking."

Sam shook his head, regretful. _God, I'm getting a headache with all this shaking_. He deigned himself not to speak.

Dean had some trouble digesting this. "So what, you meant to say that I passed out, and now when I woke up, it's eight years later? This is like, what, some kind of Back to the Future shit?"

Sam shook his head again, although now that he thought about it, the situation did bear a resemblance to the movie. _Sort of_. "No, Dean. You collapsed this afternoon." He paused. "I think you have amnesia, and I think we should have you checked out. This is a serious matter."

"I have amnesia?" Dean paled noticeably, although his voice was still calm. Sam nodded his head in assent.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure about that. Although I guess it's like a strange type of amnesia. You can't remember the year, and you think that we are younger than we actually are. Plus, you just passed out with no rhyme or reason that I can see. We should definitely be going to a hospital. I don't know why it took me so long."

"Are you sure it's amnesia?" Dean argued, unconvinced. "It could be a concussion."

"Does it feel like a concussion to you?" This was in point of fact a valid question. Unfortunately, both boys had enough experience to know how a concussion looked and felt. Sam was pretty sure this wasn't a concussion, judging by his brother's answers, but he didn't have the heart to voice this out to Dean.

"Not really, but hey, it could be a new form of concussion that we haven't gotten yet." Dean was strangely optimistic.

Sam couldn't understand his brother at all. "And a concussion is much better than having amnesia?"

"I'd rather I don't have anything at all, but yeah, it's definitely better than amnesia. And why is it that I couldn't remember the year and our ages, but that I know the month, that we are in Indiana, and that we just had lunch in Raymond's Diner?" Dean broke off his tirade, another frown marring his face. "It _was_ this afternoon, right?"

Okay, his brother had a point. This was really odd. "You can remember that? What else can you remember?" He knew he was repeating himself, but Sam didn't care. Maybe now Dean would remember that Sam wasn't Dad, and that Sam could get away with not explaining to him about Dad's death.

"What else do you want me to remember, Dad?" _Okay, scratch that wish_.

"Okay, Dean, in your memories, do you see Sam at all?" Sam was _really_ trying to ease into this the best that he could.

"Dad, is something wrong with Sam? Where is he?" Sam winced. Dean was starting to panic; Sam could see it in his eyes. His brother made to get up for the third time, and Sam had had enough. He put his hand on his chest and blurted out the truth.

"Dean, it's me, Sam." Dean stared at him. "I'm Sam, Dean. I'm not Dad."

Dean was still staring at Sam as though he had announced that he was a girl in disguise.

Sam plowed on. "Dean, I don't know how and why it happened, but it's really me. I know I look like Dad, but I'm not. I'm Sam."

Dean unexpectedly snorted. "Dude, I may get hit on the head, but I think even I can tell the difference between you and Sam."

Sam shrugged. He was puzzling over that detail too. Apparently Dean was seeing Sam's face but his mind was equating it with Dad's name. "I'm not sure how and why it happened, but I'm telling you the truth, Dean. And besides, would Dad have hair this long?"

Sam could see that Dean was considering Sam's words carefully. He pressed on the advantage.

"Dean, I think right now the more important thing is to get you to a clinic or a hospital to check you out. We can sort out this out after. I'm more worried about the amnesia. If I had known that you would wake up like this, I would have carted you to the ER immediately."

Regrettably, he took too long to try to convince Dean. Sam knew he lost the advantage when he saw a glint of steely light in his brother's eyes right before Dean opened his mouth. _Dammit_.

"So if you are Sam," Dean spoke up slowly, "then where is Dad?"

That was one question that Sam knew he couldn't avoid, no matter how much he wanted to. He tried to gather his scattered thoughts before answering his brother. He tried to be gentle with the truth.

"Dad died two years ago, Dean."

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Dean heard the words, but he didn't understand them.

"Dean, I know this is a shock, but…" Dad/Sam trailed off. He covered his face with his hands, and there was sudden silence in the room.

"What did he die of?" Dean knew it was him vocalizing the words, but it sounded like a stranger from the other end of the room. His voice sounded so far away, and hoarse and dry.

Dad/Sam looked up, and his voice was steady when he spoke. "A demon got him." Then his eyes skittered away to the other corner of the room. Dean instinctively knew that there was more to the story, and he wanted to demand the whole story, but he couldn't seem to get his mouth to work at all. He felt faint. It was a good thing he was sitting; otherwise he might have fallen down. Dad was dead. His father, the father that he was half convinced was invincible, was dead. He couldn't wrap his head around that fact. He didn't want to.

He must had given something away, something on his face, or some sound from his mouth, for the next thing he knew his arm was gripped tightly, and his father's worried features appeared right in front of him. _Or rather, Sam's features_. This was confusing, and giving him a headache.

"Dean, you okay?"

Dean had no idea what exactly happened next, but there was a blinding rage swelling out of him, and in a blink of an eye he was towering over a fallen father/sibling, who was sprawled on his ass on the motel floor with a trail of blood dripping from a slice on his left arm and a shocked expression on his face. There was a silver knife clutched in Dean's hand, and dimly he remembered that he had a silver knife underneath his pillow. But that thought was soon swept away by the red rage again, and he lifted his armed hand to take another stab at the body on the ground.

"You're a lying son of a bitch! What have you done to them? I know you still need to keep them alive! Tell me or you're going to be sorry!" Dean screamed out the words even as his arm descended down.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

So hey, thanks again for reading this! I'll see you in 2010!!


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